


purge your thoughts

by myeyesarenotblue



Series: Nighttime [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Overdosing, That's it, Underage Drug Use, discussion of suicide, it's klaus overdosing folks, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20840669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myeyesarenotblue/pseuds/myeyesarenotblue
Summary: Klaus is lying unconscious, unmoving, covered in bubbles, his skin a deadly white color, his head lolled back against the rim of the tub, his eyes open but unseeing, his lips oddly discolored.He looks dead.





	purge your thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> In my mind, this is set in the same universe as my other fic 'close your eyes and surrender' but it can totally be read as a stand alone, all you have to know is that it's set after Five disappears, but before Ben dies. 
> 
> There's some talk about the siblings wondering if Klaus' overdose might have been a suicide attempt. Not too heavy, but still.

“Klaus, c’mon, don’t be a jackass” Allison calls, knocking on the bathroom’s door for what has to be the twentieth time. “Just open the door” 

It’s not like there aren’t any other bathrooms that she could use in the house. She could very easily leave Klaus alone to do whatever the hell he does when he locks himself inside for hours on end like he usually does. But her hair straightener is inside this particular bathroom, and she wants to use it, _ dammit. _

“Just let me grab my stuff, Klaus, I’ll be quick” She says, sighing, because she’s been knocking for a while now without hearing a single peep from the bathroom and she knows Klaus can be a stubborn bastard when he wants to. 

She’s so not getting to use her straightener today. 

But- _ dammit _ , Allison wants to do her hair into that pretty updo she saw in one of her magazines and has been trying to replicate for the past week. She just needs to fix the ends of her hair so it looks more put together and Dad won’t give her shit about it ( _ “It’s a frivolous and distracting hairstyle, Number Three. I won’t tolerate it”). _Is that too much to ask for? To do her hair in the morning without having to wait hours and hours outside the bathroom? 

“Open up, asshole!” she yells out, while knocking once again, a little desperate at this point, because what the fuck is Klaus even doing in there, anyway? 

Silence. 

Allison huffs, knocking her forehead against the door. 

She’s been sort of trying to avoid rumoring her siblings all that much since they all ganged up on her and told her they didn’t appreciate being mind-controlled by her just for kicks and giggles. She gets it, really, she does. But desperate times, right? Allison really wants to do her hair. 

She takes a deep breath and braces herself for whatever string of insults and threats Klaus will surely throw at her for rumoring him. “I heard a rumor you opened the door!” 

She waits a beat, holding her breath and crossing her fingers, waiting for the rumor to take root and for Klaus to open the goddamned door so she can grab her straightener, listen to his yelling, and be done with this. 

Nothing. 

Silence, pure fucking silence. 

That’s definitely not normal, she decides. Allison’s rumors _ always _ work, especially when they’re something so simple as asking someone to open a door. 

She frowns, decides to try again. “Klaus, I heard a rumor you opened the door” 

She falters, suddenly feeling a little freaked out, a little confused, because there’s no way Klaus has the will to fight and win against one her rumors, barely anyone has. “Klaus?” 

No answer. 

Maybe he didn’t hear her. Maybe he’s hogged up in the bathtub with his headphones turned on so loud he’s going to go deaf by the time he’s twenty-five. Yeah, that must be it. 

But Allison feels a hint of something settling in the pit of her stomach, something unpleasant, and there’s no way she can just make up a half-assed excuse why Klaus wouldn't react to her rumors and call it a day. There’s got to be something wrong, either with Klaus, or with her, or with something, because her powers never fail her. 

Allison kneels down on the floor, sticking her forehead as low as she can and peeking under the door. She can’t see shit, what with the slit being way too small and her eyes not being quite level with the floor, and whatnot. But she can see enough, sort of. 

There’s the sink, a pile of dirty clothes and discarded shoes, a bunch of bubbly water splashed around with no care, the bathtub’s feet, Klaus’ headphones laying on the floor, Klaus’ h- 

Klaus’ hand. 

Klaus’ hand laying limp, hanging from the bathtub and barely brushing against the floor, unmoving, sagging, painfully still. Way too still for her liking. 

“Klaus?” Allison asks, hating the way her voice seems to crack. “Klaus, are you okay?” 

Klaus doesn’t answer, he doesn’t answer and his hand remains painfully still, and Allison’s starting to worry a little bit over here, because why are Klaus’ headphones laying on the floor anyway? He’s always bitching about how he doesn’t understand how they all manage to take baths without music, how he’d never ever in a million years do it. 

“Klaus?” Allison’s breathing hard, fast, almost panting, and yet she feels like there’s not enough air in her lungs. _ Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something's wrong- _

“I heard a rumor you answered me” she yells, a little desperately, but Klaus doesn’t answer. 

Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing. 

A sob makes its way into Allison’s throat, a loud and ugly sound, and Allison doesn’t even care, doesn’t even care that it’s a weak thing to do, a stupid and childish thing to do, that Dad would call her out for letting her emotions take the best of her. 

Allison cries, because _ something’s wrong. _

She abruptly gets up and knocks hard on the door, rattles the handle, kicks and punches and screams and cries with all of her might. “Klaus! Klaus, please, this isn’t funny anymore!” 

“Allison?” 

She turns around and there’s Vanya, still on her pajamas and looking stupidly tiny and scared, staring down at Allison’s tears with a funny expression on her face and Allison _ doesn’t care _. “He’s- he’s not-” she tries, managing to take a deep breath. “Klaus isn’t answering, something’s wrong” 

Vanya nods dumbly, frowning, looking scared out of her mind, and Allison would feel bad for her, for her sister, would try to comfort her. But she’s just standing there and looking pretty, and standing there and looking pretty isn’t going to help Klaus. 

Neither is Allison’s useless kicking and screaming, she realizes. 

_ “Luther!” _

_ “Luther, Luther!” _

Allison screams out, screams her throat raw. She heads to the downstairs bathroom, the one everyone uses whenever someone clogs up the one closest to their bedrooms. She runs and she runs, almost knocking Vanya down when she passes, running down the stairs and almost walking straight into Pogo, but she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care- 

“Luther!” she yells once more the second she sees him, and goes to grab his arm. Luther staggers backwards a couple steps with the force of her grip, almost falling down on his ass and dragging her with him. 

“Uh, what’s go-” he starts, but them he seems to zero in on Allison’s face. “Allison, were you crying?” 

And Luther’s just standing there with those big blue eyes of his and the most earnest expression ever, and Allison would feel all mushy inside knowing that Luther _ cares- _that he looks at her like that, that he worries about her, that he’d never mock her for doing something so embarrassing and pointless as crying, but. 

But. 

“It’s Klaus, please” she mutters, something whiny, and another sob tears through her throat. The rest of her brothers are there too, Diego and Ben (and not Five, not Five, because Five’s _ gone, gone, gone _-) and Allison doesn’t even care that they see her cry too, not when Klaus could be- 

“Please” 

They all follow her wordlessly. 

* 

When they get there, Vanya’s still standing near the bathroom, almost exactly were Allison left her, and she doesn’t know how to feel about that. She feels sort of numb now, now that she went and got Luther, got help, because she doesn’t know what the hell is going on with Klaus, doesn’t know if he’ll be okay. 

She can’t think about that. 

Luther squares up his shoulders and effortlessly kicks open the door. Dad hates it when Luther goes around breaking things with his stupidly inhuman strength, but maybe Allison can rumor him to spare Luther a punishment, to understand that it wasn’t straight up misbehaving from their part this time, wasn’t even an accident! Someone needed to kick open that door. 

Allison peeks inside, not wanting to spend another second not knowing, but she immediately regrets it and averts her eyes. Klaus is in the bathtub, just as she had presumed, but he’s- 

Klaus is lying unconscious (he’s unconscious, _ unconscious- he has to be unconscious and nothing else) _ he’s lying unconscious, unmoving, covered in bubbles, his skin a deadly white color, his head lolled back against the rim of the tub, his eyes open but unseeing, his lips oddly discolored. 

He looks dead. 

“Oh god!” Vanya chokes out, clapping her hands over her mouth, and it seems to shake everyone out of their pointless staring. They all rush into the bathroom, knocking into each other in the cramped space. 

“_ Shit, shit, shit, shit- _ ” Diego mutters, running over to kneel beside the bathtub, and frantically pressing his fingers against Klaus’ neck. “Shit, shit!” he yells out, after a moment. “I- I ca- I can’t- _ fuck _, I can’t find a pulse” 

“What?” Allison asks, her voice a couple octaves higher than usual. “No, no, he’s gotta have a pulse, check again” 

Diego does, and Luther joins, both of them pressing their fingers against Klaus’ neck again and again, then his wrists, then his chest, and every time they turn to look at Allison, and Vanya, and Ben, with heart wrenching expressions on their faces, growing more and desperate by the second. 

“No, no-” Allison stammers, stepping backwards, wanting to step right the fuck out of this entire situation, out of whatever cruel joke this is, because Klaus can’t- he can’t be dead, her brother can’t be dead. “Check again! Luther, check again!” 

“We already checked” Luther says, oddly flat, looking like he’s somewhere far away from here. 

Allison shakes her head. “No, no, you’re not-” she turns to look at Diego, her eyes darting everywhere but at Klaus’ lolled back head. “Diego, c’mon, check again!” 

“He’s- fuck- fu- he's fucking dead, Allison” Diego rasps out, clenching his jaw. “Sh- shu-” 

God, they’re fucking useless. 

They’re fucking useless. Luther just spaced the fuck out and Diego can’t even form a sentence, and they’re useless, fucking useless, but most importantly, most importantly, Allison thinks frantically, they’re wrong, they’re wrong, _ they’re wrong _\- 

“I heard a rumor you checked again!” Allison screams out. 

Diego complies immediately, his eyes glazing over, and then glares daggers at her for rumoring him. But then, but then, his gaze softens, crumples, and he shakes his head mournfully. 

Still no pulse. 

That’s- 

_ No. _

It’s not happening. 

It’s not happening, Allison’s still asleep and she’s having the most fucked up nightmare she’s ever had, soon she’s going to wake up and go hug Klaus silly and then feel stupid for worrying over nothing. 

Except, except it’s not a nightmare. It’s real, it’s happening, and Allison can’t do anything but watch as Klaus lies there, limply, looking so much like one of his ghosts. 

She staggers forwards, pushing Luther and Diego out of the way, kneeling right beside them, right beside Klaus, with Diego’s words echoing around her head (_ “He’s fucking dead, Allison” _) and she just can’t- 

“Wait, hold on!” Luther says, and Allison realizes he had kept his fingers curled around Klaus’ skinny wrist the whole time. “I think- I think I felt something” 

Everyone freezes, waiting, holding their breaths. 

Ben steps forward, for the first time. “Is he-?” 

He doesn’t even finish the question. And Allison notices, for the first time, too, that he’s got a hand pressing uncomfortably against his stomach, tight enough to bruise, and she thinks she can hear the soft tell-tale hum of his creatures stirring somewhere over there. 

“Luther, is he-?” Ben repeats, when no one moves, no one answers. “Does he-?” 

Luther looks up, shaking, hopeful, “He has a pulse, he’s not dead” 

* 

The infirmary has always had the creepiest echo. Allison doesn’t mind it too much, because she’s not twelve and she’s not scared by low lights and odd sounds. 

She is scared, however, for her brother’s life. And the dull echo of Mom’s heels clicking frantically from place to place as she desperately tries to get Klaus back on the land of the living? It’s the single most terrifying sound she’s ever heard in her entire life. 

“Children, I want you all to listen to me very carefully” Mom says with one of her rare close-mouthed and stern smiles, the ones that look more like a grimace. She’s sticking an oximeter to Klaus’ finger and connecting it to an old monitor, his slow heartbeat barely showing in the readings. “Your brother made himself very sick. I might not be able to...” she trails off, her smile disappears from her face and she looks the most human Allison has ever seen her. 

Mom runs one of her hands through Klaus’ damp hair, smoothing out the curls, like she did for them all when they were children. “You should try and prepare yourselves for the worst. The chances that Klaus will make a full recovery are very slim” 

Allison cries. 

* 

They’re all gathered outside of the infirmary, pacing the hallway and trying to pretend their brother isn’t dying on the other side of the door, when Dad walks up to them. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Dad starts, first and foremost, stopping by while shooting them an annoyed glare. “It’s almost nine o’clock and not a single one of you showed up for training” 

That’s- 

Maybe he doesn’t know, Allison tells herself, because there’s no way a father would look so nonchalant if he knew his kid was hurt. But she’s pretty sure the entire neighborhood heard her screaming and if that wasn’t enough, he must know that if both Mom and Pogo didn’t show either then something happened, right? 

“What-?” Ben blurts, incredulous. 

Dad snickers. “Is there a particular reason for this nonsense? Or is this merely another act of your insufferable teenage rebellion?” 

“You’ve got to be kidding, old man” Diego says, and Dad’s eyebrows go up to his forehead. 

“I didn’t raise you to be such an insolent brat, Number Two” he says, stupidly calmly, probably just to rile Diego up further. Then he turns to regard them all. “I expect you to resume the day’s activities right now, children. And seeing as you keep these rebellious behaviors, you will not be having dinner tonight” 

“Wait, wait-” Diego says. “You want us to straight up pretend our b-brother isn’t d- dy- d- dyi-” 

He gets stuck on the word. 

He hasn’t been getting stuck on words for a while now, but Allison thinks if there’s a moment to stutter and stammer and gasp out, then it’s this one. 

“Dying” 

It’s Vanya, a harsh whisper leaving her mouth. “Klaus might be dying” she says, fearfully, brokenly, almost as if the words are leaving against her will, because she always keeps quiet and makes herself small whenever Dad’s around. And it’s funny, it’s funny because usually Diego starts throwing punches when he’s stuttering and someone talks over him, but- he only sets his jaw and glares at Dad with all of his might, lets Vanya speak. 

Dad raises an eyebrow, plainly ignores them both. 

But it’s true, isn’t? 

Klaus might be dying. 

Klaus might be dying and Allison doesn’t want to go train and run laps and spar and work out and do all that monotone crap- no, she wants to stay for her brother, she wants to stay every single second until Mom comes out of the infirmary and tells them the verdict. 

They all want to stay. 

Luther takes a step forward, opts one of those military stands Dad’s taught them over the years. But he doesn’t look very composed. “Dad, could we-” he starts, his voice so very small. “Could we please stay here, just until Four wakes up?” 

Dad spits out a huff. “Don’t be ridiculous, boy. I will not have you ignoring your duties because of Number Four’s stupidity” 

Luther looks like he was slapped. Hurt. Betrayed. 

Allison doesn’t like that look on him. 

Ben’s hugging his stomach again, looking down at his feet while breathing heavily. Allison’s never been the closest to him, but once, once she walked by Vanya’s room and overheard them talking. Overheard some hushed whispers about the Horror and the way it roars and cries and begs to be let out whenever Ben’s distressed about anything. 

And there he is, hugging his stomach. 

Allison doesn’t like that look on him. 

She doesn’t like the way Diego and Vanya stand, both horrified and righteously angry and scared and mad. She doesn’t like the way Dad stands there, uncaring. 

Allison thinks... 

She has the power here, doesn’t she? 

She could do something, if she wanted to. 

She breaths in and out slowly, tells herself it’ll be fine. _ (But will it? She hasn’t tried rumoring one Reginald Hargreeves since she was eight years old and she really wanted a puppy and he- _

_ And he- _

_ She hasn’t tried). _

Allison opens her mouth, “I-” another deep breath. “I heard a rumor-” 

Before she knows it, before she has time to react, Dad’s there. Dad’s there, crowing her space, standing impossibly close, and lifting that goddamned cane of his- 

He lifts it up, up, up, up- 

Does he even need a cane, Allison thinks hysterically, does he? No, no he doesn’t even need a cane, it’s just one of those weird rich people things, or maybe, or maybe, he only ever drags it around the house so he can beat his children with it- yeah, yeah, that must be it. 

The cane goes up and Allison snaps her eyes shut, flinches back. She waits for the blow to come- 

It doesn’t. 

When she opens her eyes, Diego’s there. He’s there, holding the cane two inches away from Allison’s forehead, glaring down at Dad, being glared down by him. “Don’t fucking think abo- bout it” 

Allison suddenly feels like crying. 

She doesn’t, but. 

She shouldn’t try to rumor Dad. She knows she shouldn't, she knows! It’s pointless, it’s useless, and it’s a waste of time and energy, and it could end very, very badly! She learned it when she was eight years old and she’s learning it today and- 

Ben squeezes her hand. 

Diego lets go of the cane and Dad brings it down instead of up this time. He shoots them one last venomous glare and turns around on his feet, walking far, far away from them. 

It’s not fair. 

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair! 

Klaus is dying. Klaus is dying and Allison can’t do this one thing for him, for her siblings. Why can’t she do this one thing? It shouldn’t be too difficult. The rumor doesn’t even require Dad to do anything out of the ordinary, just to go away and leave them be, go away and let them worry in peace. 

Why can’t she do this one thing? 

She drops to the floor, hugging her knees against her chest. It’s childish, immature. She doesn’t care. She watches Reginald walk away, oblivious to her pain. She hates him. 

Luther kneels down next to her. And then Ben, and then Diego, and then Vanya. They sit there, together, hurting, not crying. Ben chokes out a frustrated sound, pressing down at his stomach hard enough to bruise. “I heard a rumor you were a good father” he calls, not too loud, not too quiet. 

Allison would think Reginald didn’t hear, but he stops for a second, looks back. 

* 

He never actually says they can stay. 

Never says, “Hey, you know what? Your dear brother whom you all love very much and would die for is hurt at the moment, why don’t you go wait by his bedside? It might be good for your psyches even if there’s not a whole lot you can actually do for him” 

No, he’d never say that. But he doesn’t come back, doesn’t try and drag to the gym, or to class, or to anything, doesn’t spit out more threats. 

So, they stay. 

Allison's pretty sure Dad’s going to murder them sometime later, maybe tomorrow morning, when he can proudly announce they lost a whole entire day doing nothing and now they’ll be punished. But. 

They stay. 

* 

They keep sitting on the floor. All of them. 

Together. 

Allison doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s never had to deal with something like this, ever. She’s terrified. Because, sure, sure, it’s not a secret, that Klaus drinks and smokes and snorts and does god knows what else, but- 

But- 

“Do you think he did it on purpose?” 

Allison blinks up. There’s Vanya, curled in on herself, clutching her pill bottle so hard her knuckles look almost completely white. “Because he overdosed, right?” she’s saying, staring right ahead with a haunted look. “He overdosed and he could’ve done it on purpose” 

The insinuation settles uncomfortably on the pit of Allison’s stomach. 

That’s a possibility. 

She never, ever wants to think or talk or wonder about it but- that’s always a possibility. Because it’s Klaus! It's Klaus they’re talking about! Klaus is reckless and restless and he’s always going out and coming back all bruised and dumb and sad and- 

Ben’s shaking his head side to side, eyes snapped shut. “No, no, he didn’t do it on purpose” 

Vanya shifts until he’s facing him, suddenly wide awake and alert. Allison knows what she must be thinking. Ben and Klaus. Klaus and Ben. They’re close. If anyone knows whether or not Klaus tried to- 

If anyone knows, then it’s Ben. 

“Are you sure, Ben? Have you-” Vanya urges, biting her lip. “Are you sure?” 

Ben opens his eyes. 

They look- 

Oh. 

It’s one of those times. 

It’s one of those times when Ben and the Horror bleed into each other. Allison doesn’t quite understand, and she thinks she never will. All she knows is that Ben’s eyes turn a turmoil of a color, black, and purple, and brown, and blue, and pink, and green, and a thousand other things she can’t name, can’t define. Unnatural. Twisted. Eerie. 

Ben’s always a mess, after it’s over. Allison doesn’t understand. 

He opens his eyes. “Yes,” he says, and his voice doesn’t sound all that normal, either, all that human. “Yes, I’m sure” 

“But, how can you-” 

“I just know” 

Something big and bulging flashes under Ben’s shirt, stretching the fabric out for the briefest of moments. Vanya eyes Ben’s stomach warily, seems to remember it’s not the best idea to anger Ben when he’s like this, to anger him, anger him and by extension anger a gigantic, blood thirsty, eldritch creature. 

She sits back, defeated. 

But Ben’s sure, he says. Ben’s sure. 

Diego gets on his feet, walks side to side to side along the hallway’s floors, twisting a knife, throwing it up and down. He doesn’t say a word. 

Ben’s sure. 

Allison wants to believe him. 

Luther sighs by her side, rests the back of his head against the wall. “We can’t be sure” 

* 

The hours tick by slowly, painfully slowly. 

Hour after hour after hour after hour. They sit there, quietly. Their feet going numb under the weight of their legs, their necks cricking every time they shift and twist and move. Vanya gets up at some point, disappears down the stairs for a couple minutes and comes back carrying a tray of those dumb sandwiches of hers. Those fluffernutter monstrosities. 

Allison almost doesn’t want to eat them, almost doesn’t. They taste disgusting. But- she's pretty sure those sandwiches are the one and only thing Vanya knows how to make, and she made them for them, and she makes them for Five, and she- 

She made them. 

Allison mutters a thank you and reaches for a sandwich, eats every last bite of it. 

* 

“What are we going to do if he dies?” 

“He’s not going to” 

* 

“But what if he does?” 

“He won’t” 

* 

“But-” 

“No” 

* 

Diego storms off. 

Comes back almost a whole entire hour later. He’s carrying a half empty whiskey bottle on one hand, a stuffed unicorn on the other. 

Allison thinks she recognizes that unicorn. 

Klaus bullied Diego into winning it for him, a couple years ago. The fair was in town. The fair was in town, and they all snuck out of their beds late night, rushed through the city’s streets like the overexcited children they never got to be, all giggling and talking and laughing, until they got there. They rode every single game at least twice, ate all the cotton candy their bodies could take. 

Diego won that unicorn for Klaus. 

Now he kneels down on the floor, next to them, puts the whiskey bottle down and reaches into a hole on the unicorn’s back. He pulls out a plastic baggie. It’s full of pills. 

“Oh,” Allison breaths out. “That’s where he hides them” 

Diego nods. 

He buries the little baggie in one of his breast pockets, cradles the stuffed unicorn in his arms, slowly, carefully. As if it were something precious. 

* 

Allison’s laying on her back, her head pillowed on Luther’s lap. He’s running his fingers through her hair, a soft, repetitive motion. She thinks she could fall asleep like this. But not really. Not really, because she’s too worried, and too tired, and too restless. She couldn’t fall asleep, even if she wanted to. 

Instead, she’s been watching her siblings, cataloguing their reactions. 

Ben’s eyes are back to normal. 

That’s good. 

But Vanya’s still shaking minutely, alternating between clutching one of Ben’s hands into hers and wiping tears from her eyes. She’s been taking her pills, far too many of them. If she tries to take another one, Allison reasons, she’s gonna have to intervene. They don’t need another overdose here. 

She doesn’t know what to make of Diego. He’s just been- 

Throwing his knives. 

Up and down, and up and down, and up and down. 

Allison doesn’t know how to help him, doesn’t know if he wants help. She doesn’t know how to help any of them. What are they gonna do, if Klaus dies? 

* 

She pictures a world of mourning, and crying, and saying goodbye, of lowering a coffin low on the ground, spreading ashes, and setting up a plaque by the patio, official statements given to the press, paparazzi, a thousand tight lipped smiles and muttered_ no comments, no questions, please- _

A world where there’s not seven of them, and there’s not six, and they’re incomplete. 

She hates that world. 

* 

She falls asleep. 

Of course, of course, she falls asleep. Because turns out her body can’t do this one thing for her, either. A couple hours of worrying herself silly and having Luther playing with her hair, and she’s knocked the fuck out. That's weak, a weak thing to do. 

She should’ve been awake, for every single second. 

“Hey, hey, Allison,” Luther’s saying, shaking her shoulder with a gentle motion, so very gentle. “Allison, up, up, wake up” 

Allison wakes up. 

He’s staring down at her, with an urgency in his eyes, and edge to his smile. But he still smiles, tired, a little broken, “Hey,” he says, just for her. 

Allison smiles, too, “Hi” 

They stare at each other for all of two seconds, smiling dumbly, until Allison realizes exactly why Luther decided to wake her up. Mom’s- 

Mom’s standing there, wearing her nurse uniform, all pink and plastic and artificial. Pogo is nowhere to be seen, but she’s there, standing tall and proud, unperturbed by just how close Ben, and Vanya, and Diego are standing, not even two inches away from her. 

Allison stares, transfixed, because she wants to read her face, and know, understand, but Mom’s sporting one of her _ stale _smiles, as they all call them, against Diego’s bitching- it's the exact same smile she wears whenever she serves dinner, or tucks them into bed, or stitches a bullet wound. Empty. Unreadable. Inhuman. 

She swallows, tells herself to let it go. Then she’s on her feet in a second, pushing her head off Luther’s lap and scrambling up as quickly as she can to join the small horde surrounding her mother. She doesn’t even wait for Luther. 

“Mom, Mom,” she babbles, nonsensically. “Klaus, how is he?” 

Mom blinks up, slowly stretches her smile into something nicer, warmer, as the mention of Klaus’ name alone was enough to shake her off whatever goes on in her mind when she’s not responding. “Would you like to see him?” 

“See him?” Ben echoes, a tint of hope in his words. And there it is again, the faraway echo of his creatures rumbling, far more anxious this time. 

Allison feels anxious, too. 

She waits, holds her breath, leans into Luther when he comes to stand next to her. 

“Why, of course, darling!” Mom gushes, tucking a strand of rebel hair behind Ben’s ear. Suddenly she’s all easy movements and relaxed stance. “Would you like to see your brother? He’s delicate right now and I believe he doesn’t much like being alone. I’m afraid I’ve left him for too long already” 

There’s an implication there, that Klaus is okay, that Klaus isn’t dead. Allison hears it, loud and clear, and her siblings hear it, too. There’s silence, for a hot second, and then, all hell breaks loose. 

_ (“What-?” _

_ “What does that mean?” _

_ “Mom, what did he even take?” _

_ “Is he okay? Are you sure?” _

_ “Oh, God, I thought he was going to-” _

_ “I could swear he didn’t have a heartbeat-” _

_ “Are you a hundred percent sure?”) _

It’s a buzz, an unintelligent hubbub of words over words over words, everyone talking over each other and unconsciously fighting to be heard, to be the one who gets an answer. Allison can barely hear her own voice, blabbering and fussing, crying with the need for Mom to up and tell them upright already, tell them Klaus is alright. 

She keeps talking, and talking, and talking- 

“Children! Children!” Mom starts, not even louder. The second she puts her hands over her waist, they all fall quiet, their attention on her. “Speak one at a time, please! I can barely understand you!” 

They fall quiet. 

Allison speaks up, hesitantly, almost afraid, “Just- you mean he’s…?” 

She waits for an answer, but it doesn’t come. 

Mom blinks up at her, confused, cocking her head to the side. And- Allison keeps forgetting, she keeps forgetting again and again and again, that they can’t really talk to Mom like that. Tell her some half sentence full of insinuations, with no context at all, and expect her to understand what they mean. Her programming just isn’t that good. 

Allison takes a deep breath, “Is Klaus alright? Is he okay?” 

Mom’s smile widens, stretches big and wide and bright. “Yes, darling” she says, softly, proudly, sure. “Your brother is a-okay. I expect him to make a full recovery in no time” 

* 

He looks tiny, in the bed. 

And looking tiny in one of the infirmary’s beds is a hell of a difficult feat- those things were barely wide enough to fit them when they were children, Allison knows, remembers. They’re more like cots, slim and uncomfortable and scratchy. Hellish to spend time on. Small. 

It’s difficult to look tiny, and Klaus- Klaus looks tiny. He looks insanely small, and afraid, wearing a slightly sheepish expression on his face _ (sheepish, alive and good, good, good-). _ He’s lying on his back, clutching the bed sheets tightly. 

They all stumble into the infirmary dumbly, walking automatically and without any real purpose beyond seeing for themselves Klaus isn’t dead. Allison doesn’t take her eyes off him for a single second. 

Klaus isn’t dead. 

He blinks, again and again and again, sluggish, slow, letting go of the sheets and clutching them back again. Allison can’t help it, she breathes out something shaky and relieved, almost whimpers, because that’s her brother right there! That’s her brother! He’s alive! Her brother is alive! 

Klaus bites his lip, twirls his IV’s tube around with one finger. It’s got to hurt, twisting the needle around. “Hi,” he says, almost muttering, not looking up to meet anyone’s eyes. 

Allison feels like she’s frozen to the spot. 

What do you say, when you thought for sure, he’d be dead? What do you say, when you thought it’d be a goodbye, instead of a hello? When you thought you’d never hear his voice ever again? 

She feels like she’s frozen to the spot. 

No one moves, either. 

It’s Vanya, the one who steps forward before anyone else does. It’s a rare burst of confidence, Allison thinks, or maybe not that rare because Vanya’s always anxious and afraid and this couldn’t have been easy on her. Vanya steps forwards and throws herself into Klaus’ chest, hugs him tight. 

“Whoa, okay!” Klaus gasps, awkwardly reaching to pat Vanya’s back. 

It’s probably the most uncomfortable hug to ever exist, with Klaus laying down and Vanya standing on her tiptoes and the years and years and years of emotional distance and unsaid words poured into one single embrace. It feels private. Allison almost looks away. Almost. 

That single hug springs everyone into action, and while Vanya murmurs some nonsense into Klaus’ shoulders, Allison watches. “_ Don’t ever do that again _ ,” Vanya mutters, keeps muttering, “ _ Don’t do that, don’t do that _-” 

Klaus patting her back helplessly, throwing Ben some desperate glances. 

Ben smiles, soft and warm and relieved. He doesn’t offer any help whatsoever. In fact, he looks like he might be two seconds away from joining the hug and clinging to Klaus himself, muttering his own string of accusations and demands, clutching Klaus’ arms tightly and never letting go. 

He doesn’t join hug, though, no matter how much he looks like he might want to. _ (He keeps holding his middle tight, and Allison thinks she can make out flashes of unnatural colors and shapes dancing around his eyes. No one comments on it). _

Vanya sobs once. 

Exactly once. 

The loudest sound she’s made in the past couple of hours, the last couple of pills. The sound of it is painfully booming, echoing along the infirmary’s walls. 

Klaus winces, and Allison winces, “Hey, c’mon, Vanya,” she babbles, reaching for her sister. Her voice sounds kind of dull, to her ears. Flat. She wonders what that’s about. Delayed shock, or trauma, maybe. She’s read about that, in a book she borrowed from Ben. 

Vanya doesn’t move. 

“Vanya, c’mon” Allison repeats, because Klaus looks tired and worn and having a five foot something menace stuck to his shoulder can’t be the best thing ever. He needs to heal. 

But Klaus shakes his head, “No, it’s- It’s alright, really” 

He keeps rubbing Vanya’s shoulders, her arms, comforting her when he should be the one being comforted, here. It sort of irks Allison, that he can’t rest. Makes her want to kick everyone out of the room and tend to Klaus’ every desire, bring him food and candy and drinks, let him borrow her skirts and hair tools, her nail polish. 

How come she never lets him borrow her skirts and her nail polish? Her eyeliner? How come he always has to steal it from her room while she’s away? What kind of sister is she? 

Why can’t she let her brother have this one thing he enjoys? This one utterly and completely harmless- 

“Are you okay?” Klaus asks, frowning at Allison’s own frown, his forehead poking from behind Vanya’s matted hair as she finally, finally parts and stops half strangulating him with her embrace. 

Allison stares. 

There he is. 

Comforting Vanya. Sharing knowing looks with Ben. Asking Allison if she’s okay. Ignoring the hell out of Luther and Diego, and their general aura of awkwardness when dealing with anything even remotely serious. There he is. 

If it weren’t for the hollow eyes, and paper-thin skin, the I.V. and the infirmary, the hours and hours and hours of not knowing, of fearing- if it weren’t for that, then it could almost be any other day. It could be monday, and they’d spar, and then Klaus would disappear for half an hour and come back all dopey eyed and grin-y. Or it could be tuesday, and they’d run laps, and then Klaus would disappear for longer, and come back sluggish and tired and giggly. It could be any other day. 

But it’s not monday, and it’s not tuesday, and it’s not any other day. 

It’s today. 

Before sparring, or running laps. It’s today, and Klaus didn’t come back slurring words and making crude jokes, passing out after two minutes. Klaus came back being carried, half dead, early in the morning. No dopey eyes, or grins, or giggles. Nothing. 

Allison stares. 

He really could’ve died. 

Luther holds her elbow, shakes her gently, “Allison?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” 

Allison nods, swift and easy. 

She turns to Klaus, smiles as big and warm and bright as she possibly can. Klaus returns it, as big and warm and bright as he possibly can. It looks like a grimace. Fake. 

A beat. 

“You’re an asshole,” Diego announces, harsh and afraid. He shoves the little unicorn plush on Klaus’ arms- half throwing it, as if it were one of his knives. 

Klaus stumbles, scrambles to grab hold of it and grasp it before it ends up falling off the cot. “Oh,” he mutters, when he sees what it is, when he sees that’s where he hides his drug stash. “Oh, you-” Something ugly twists around his face. Something like anger, like resentment, indignation. Something latched with a bone deep hunger that Allison is still hesitant to allow herself to identify as an urge, a need, an addiction- 

But it’s true, isn’t? Klaus is angry. 

Klaus is an addict. 

Diego took Klaus’ drugs away. 

Klaus is angry. 

Diego huffs, crosses his arms over his chest, “Save it” 

Klaus opens his mouth, surely to scream and cry and throw a temper tantrum over the lone five pills he no longer has, no longer can take, surely to prove Allison’s worst nightmares right. But he doesn’t speak. He blinks, instead, slowly. He takes a deep breath, watches them. He must see something he doesn’t like. 

Klaus clenches his jaw, looks down at the floor, nods halfheartedly. 

A beat. 

Ben’s eyes flash a deep purple, “We thought you were going to die” 

Klaus doesn’t reply. 

He steps forward, takes one hand off his stomach and uses it to toy with the unicorn’s bright hair. Close to Klaus, close enough to touch, but never touching, “We really thought...” 

He trails off. 

His voice sounds off, too. Allison doubts when he says _ we _ he means _ we _ as in _ me and my siblings. _ It’s probably something more like _ me and my eldritch monsters. _

She gets the sentiment, either way. Klaus, too. 

But he doesn’t reply. 

The silence stretches, stuffy and uncomfortable, making the already small and crowded space feel infinitely smaller and a thousand times more crowded. Allison feels anxious, all of the sudden. She wants to reach out and scream and cry, and demand answers- 

“Did you,” Vanya starts, staring vacantly up ahead. “Did you do it on-” 

She stops. 

Allison remembers a couple minutes, or hours, or whatever ago. Vanya, rocking minutely, shaking, taking pill, after pill, after pill- 

_ Do you think he did it on purpose? _

They all remember it, of course. They all tense, stiffen, because it’s one thing to wonder about it as an abstract and distant possibility, and it’s a whole ‘nother different thing to wonder about it when their brother is lying there, looking so small, so sad. 

Klaus flutters, twitches. Allison’s pretty sure he understands what Vanya’s asking, too, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t reply, doesn’t meet anyone’s eye. He just lies there, small, sad, fretful and afraid- so, so small. 

She can’t take her eyes off him. 

What if- 

_ Do you think he did it on purpose? _

Ben lets go of the stuffed unicorn, abruptly- such a fast and unnatural movement that Allison almost doesn’t catch it. Diego takes out a knife, fidgets with it. Vanya stares, blankly. Luther looks everywhere but at Klaus’ cot, clenching his jaw tight. 

Do they really need to know? Have to? Want to? Is it not enough to know Klaus made a mistake? That it almost went wrong but didn’t? Do they really need to know? 

Vanya takes out her pill bottle, opens it with shaking hands and takes out a single pill. Allison doesn’t like the way Klaus stares at it hungrily, the way Vanya stares at it hungrily. She thinks about reaching out and stopping her sister before she can even think about putting that thing on her mouth- she's taken too many pills already, today. But those are prescribed. 

Those are prescribed. 

They’re not like Klaus’. 

Vanya is allowed to take them, take as many as she likes. Allison asked Pogo about them, once. He called them a necessary evil. He said Vanya needs them, for her health, for her own good. He said Vanya wouldn’t be there, with them, if it weren’t for those pills. 

They’re not like Klaus’. 

The silence stretches. 

No body speaks. 

Diego adjusts his grip on the knife, throws it up, up, up, up and into the wall, dead center on the picture of a needle, a poster announcing the importance of taking shots. “Mom told us to prepare ourselves,” he says, an unreadable expression on his face. “She said you were going to die, Klaus. That’s how close you came to- to- f- ” 

Klaus shrugs. 

Diego glares. He doesn’t even try to spit out whatever word got stuck on his throat. Allison thinks she wouldn’t either- she's tired, exhausted, really. He must be, too, all of them. 

But it’s true. 

Mom said Klaus wouldn’t wake up. 

And, if she admits it to herself, Allison was half-sure, even before that, that it was true. Klaus wasn’t going to wake up. Klaus was going to die in a cold bath, eyes vacant and unseeing, cracked lips and hollow cheeks. He was going to die. 

He was dead. 

It suddenly feels important, that Klaus knows that. 

“We couldn’t find your pulse” Allison babbles out, abruptly. 

Diego spares her a glance, turns back to Klaus, “I still think you didn’t have a pulse. I checked. You were dead, Klaus. You were fu- fucking purple and you didn’t have a fucking pulse. You were dead. You were dead, lying on a fucking bathtub and you made us-” 

Klaus huffs, interrupts, “What do you want me to say?” he asks, high and desperate, ashamed, a deep twirl of emotions dancing behind his eyes. “What do want me to-” he stops, sighs, breathes out, resigned and petulant. “What do you want?” 

“I want you to explain why the fuck you thought taking all the crap you take was a good idea,” Diego says, suddenly angry. He’s never angry, not at Klaus. “Because I can’t understand why you’d-” 

“Oh, fuck off, Diego. You have no right to-” 

“What, huh? What do you even-” 

“Diego, just-” 

“Just what? You’re a fucking asshole! Why would you even mix your stupid pills with alcohol- you can’t be that stupid, Klaus! I didn’t want to believe you’re that fucking stupid, but guess I was wrong!” 

Klaus crosses his arms over his chest, indignant, annoyed. “Don’t call me that, you prick. I’m not some idiot you can-” 

“Ah, you’re not an idiot? You didn’t mix pills and whiskey, then?” 

“You don’t know anything!” 

Allison barely realizes it’s happening, but next thing she knows- Luther's stepping forward, standing next to Diego with those big blue eyes of his, earnest and afraid. “Were you trying to kill yourself?” he asks, as blunt and straightforward as he can sometimes be. 

Allison doesn’t mind, when he’s blunt and straightforward. She thinks she can understand, how he doesn’t see a need for sugarcoating, how he’d rather get straight to the point, no dancing around topics. She doesn’t mind. 

But Klaus does, apparently. 

He shrinks on in himself, drops his shoulders, drops his head, as if someone dropped a bucket of ice-cold water on him, as if someone flipped a switch and suddenly he doesn’t have any fight at all left in him, nothing at all. 

Diego shuts up, and Ben straightens up, and Vanya straightens up, and they all perk up and wait for an answer, staring at Klaus like hawks. And Allison- 

Do they really need to know? 

Do they have to? 

Do they want to? 

Klaus lifts his head up slowly, almost fearfully. He regards them all, head swinging side to side to catch everyone’s faces, everyone’s traitorous expressions. It’s funny, the way he stares at them, conflicted, remorseful, maybe even a little guilt ridden. 

He breathes out something shaky, “You really think I...” 

Allison looks down, bites her lip. 

She thinks Klaus might be deciding, right then and there, what the answer to Luther’s question is. Because Diego’s right. Klaus plays dumb, plays innocent and naïve- but he’s everything but that. He’s smart. He’s not an idiot. He knows not to mix pills with alcohol. 

She doesn’t know what she expects him to say, though. What would she say, if their positions were reversed? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t think she’d ever admit it if she had fucked up that bad, made such a horrible mistake, and she certainly wouldn’t admit if it wasn’t a mistake, if she did meant to do it. 

She doesn’t know what she expects him to say. 

Klaus shakes his head side to side, runs his hands over his hair, his eyes, his face. There’s some smudged mascara around his eyes, runny and cheap. He messes it up, rubbing at his eyes. Not that it looked much better before. Allison’s ought to show him a good brand. 

“Klaus?” Ben asks, tentatively. 

He doesn’t say it, but Allison hears it loud and clear- 

_ C’mon, Klaus, c’mon. Just tell us, please, tell us, we need to know. Please, were you trying to- _

Klaus looks up, sharply, stares straight into Ben’s eyes. “No,” he says, plain and simple and sure, his voice wavering slightly. “God, no- fuck, I- I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to-” 

And then his eyes water, and his lip quavers, and his brow furrows, and then he’s crying. He cries, in that very specific way only Klaus can cry, all dry heaves and tight lips- unabashed, shameless. 

Allison could never cry like that. 

“No, I- I,” Klaus stammers, twitchy all of the sudden. He doesn’t stop crying. He doesn’t stop staring into Ben’s eyes. “I swear, Benny, I- I was just, I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to- to-” 

Ben’s there in an instant, not hugging- he never hugs when his creatures are acting up. But Ben’s there and he squeezes Klaus’ hand, and he doesn’t make a peep when Klaus buries his face deep on his shoulder, doesn’t make a peep when Klaus shakes and heaves and sobs. 

He didn’t mean to. 

He wasn’t trying to. 

Vanya keeps staring straight ahead, unmoving. Diego clenches and unclenches his fists- 

Luther’s swaying uncomfortably from side to side, looking everywhere but at Klaus and Ben, and Allison can’t help but huff, quietly, under her breath. It never fails to amaze her just how much he enjoys pretending he’s never had a single feeling on his life- Diego, too. They’re ridiculous. 

Klaus said he didn’t mean to. 

Klaus said he wasn’t trying to. 

For some reason, she can’t quite believe him. 

* 

They stay there, together, until Mom comes and checks on Klaus and kicks them the hell out, reminds them it’s time for dinner, and they aren’t allowed to skip meals, especially since they already missed breakfast and lunch. She seems very worried, about that. 

_ (“But Mom-” _

_ “Nonsense! You’re growing girls and boys! What kind of mother would I be if I went and let you skip meals like that, children?” _

_ “Can’t we stay here with Klaus?” _

_ “He’ll be here when you come back, silly”). _

It’s a sound logic. 

So they go, and they eat, and they hurry back upstairs. 

It’s all fun and games until Dad shows up from out of nowhere. 

He screams, he yells. He calls Klaus a thousand names, calls him stupid and idiotic and reckless, calls him a nuisance and a burden, promises him pain and punishments and more and more and more _ special _ training, to _ busy his time, to keep him away from those filthy little drugs of his- _

Klaus doesn’t cry. 

He barely even reacts, barely even flinches back at all, when Dad’s speaking, yelling. It’s like he knows for a fact it won’t do him any good, to voice whatever’s going through his mind. He just lies there, silently, his chin raised high, waits out the yelling and the name calling. It lasts for a good while, minutes, and minutes, and minutes stretching into hours. 

Allison spends that whole while pressed up against one of the infirmary's walls, sandwiched between Luther and Vanya, and Ben and Diego. They all stand there, looking down, witnessing it all; and when he’s done, Dad turns to them, yells at _ them _ , screams at _ them, _ calls _ them _ names. 

They get sent back to their bedrooms, told they’re not allowed to stay with Klaus for the night, told such a fool does not deserve any sort of comradery, of company. 

They get sent back to their bedrooms. 

* 

Allison lays on her bed, late at night, and she can’t sleep. 

It’s not some silly and childish sentiment of wanting to see Klaus just to make sure he’s really there, he’s really alive. No, it’s not something so dumb. She knows he’s there. She knows he’s alive. 

It’s more like- 

It’s more like, she knows he’s there and she knows he’s alive, and she also knows he despises being alone, and he’s got to despise being alone, stuck in the infirmary, stuck with an I.V. dripping fluid to his veins, stuck with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and think about every single mistake he’s ever had the misfortune of making. 

He doesn’t like being alone. 

Why do they have to leave him alone, now, that he’s hurt? 

Allison feels the turmoil of a half-assed idea, forming in the depths of her mind. There’s no goddamned reason why Klaus should have to spend the night by himself. 

Why do they have to leave him alone? 

Allison slips out of bed, slowly, mindful not to make any noise. It's an art, the sneaking around, and she thinks she’s got it mastered by now. So she goes. 

She stands up, and she goes. 

(She grabs her little box, before leaving, the one where she stores all of her nail polish. It’s a nice box. Handcrafted, wooden- carved. A random kid gave it to her, a fan, some boy around their age with star struck expression on his face. Allison barely remember him. 

But _ oh _, how does she love her little box. 

It has all of them, all of their faces, one through six, rudely carved along the sides, along with a pattern of small umbrellas, lightning bolts, and domino masks. It’s hand painted, too- soft, pretty colors. It’s her one of her most prized possessions). 

Allison grabs her little box, and she goes. 

The halls are silent, dead. No light, no noise, no nothing. Her every footstep echoing and booming, infinitely louder than the last. She passes by Mom’s charging station- 

And it’s weird. 

Knowing, seeing her, like that. Staring straight ahead, her eyes shining a bright blue, so very unnatural, so very inhuman. Unresponsive, unseeing. It’s weird, knowing she could start jumping up and down, screaming and calling for her, and Mom would never know she’s there. 

Allison passes quickly, not wanting to stare at Mom’s hollow face for longer than necessary. 

She goes, wandering through the house until she reaches the infirmary’s tightly shut door. 

She doesn’t knock. Why would she? 

Allison grabs the doorknob and twists, and twists and steps inside- 

Klaus is there, lying on his cot. 

But there’s also- 

“Oh,” Allison blurts, half-whispering for some reason. “Ben, I- I didn’t know you were here” 

Ben smiles up at her, relaxed and sloppy and happy. He looks so very tired, so very worn. He turns to look at Klaus, at the way he keeps picking at the needle on his arm, twisting in it and maybe attempting to remove it. “I guess we thought of the same thing” 

Allison smiles, too. “Yeah, I- yeah" 

Why do they have to leave Klaus alone? There’s no good reason. 

Klaus finally stops fidgeting with the needle, looks up at her. “Hey, sister-!” he starts, and Allison can pinpoint the exact moment when he notices her little wooden box. His eyes widen, brighten. He smiles big, sincere. “Light of my life, my dearest, most wondrous friend- _ is that what I think it is _?” 

Allison nods, her eyes wrinkling, and she holds the box tight against her stomach. Klaus is practically vibrating with excitement, and Allison, she suddenly feels sort of- 

Not silly, not embarrassed. 

But something near. 

Ben’s sitting there. 

Ben’s sitting there, and Ben’s never really been part of those little rituals, never been part of the make-up and the dress-up and the gossip, celebrity or otherwise. He’s never outright said anything against them, either- never called the make-up stupid, or the dress-up ridiculous, or the gossip frivolous, like Diego or Vanya (or Five, but-). He’s never said anything like that. 

But. 

Still. 

Allison holds her little box close, “I can come back later, though” 

Klaus pouts, immediately. Like a goddamned child. 

She shoots Ben a pointed look. 

Klaus gets it. 

He smiles, all dopey and happy and mischievous. “Oh, don’t you worry about young Benjamin,” he leans in, puts a hand over his mouth and gushes some low tones, a faux whisper. “Between you and me, our brother is in dire need of a make-over. Some nail polish ought to do him some good” 

Ben’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “Wait, _ what _?” 

Allison laughs. 

She laughs, because- 

God, Ben looks so damned scandalized. 

It’s like the mere suggestion is enough to send him trampling with anxious energy, with tired resignation, and unmistakable fear. Allison laughs, because behind that anxious energy and that resignation and that fear, she can see, clear as day, the way Ben’s eyes soften, brighten after Klaus’ smiles- the way he stares at Klaus, all adoringly and fond. 

He’s _ so _ gonna end up with painted nails. 

Allison steps forward, drags an over-bed table and sets it over Klaus’ cot, drops her little box right in the middle of it. Klaus doesn’t waste a single second, he reaches for it, immediately. He rummages through the box’s contents, picking up bottle after bottle after bottle, raising them high above his head to stare at them and maybe get a sense of the color, in the infirmary’s low light. 

Allison watches him. 

She watches him, as she grabs a chair and places it gently next to Ben’s, sits down. She doesn’t have that many options, that many colors- not as many as she’d like, anyway. But Klaus? He stares at her little box as if it held something precious, something beautiful. 

How come she never lets him borrow her nail polish? Her skirts? Her eyeliner? 

She bites her lip, looks down. 

Maybe if Klaus had been busy playing dress up, he wouldn’t have had the time to even think about taking his mystery pills, his treacherous alcohol. Maybe today wouldn’t have happened at all. 

Allison watches him. 

He holds each bottle so, so carefully- 

“A-ha!” Klaus exclaims, at last. Very sudden. 

He reaches into the box and pulls out one of Allison’s oldest polishes, one she barely remembers ever wearing- a small bottle, lilac. It’s a soft, pretty color. It reminds Allison of a nice flower maybe, like the ones in Mom’s paintings. Or maybe it reminds her of the movies, of the colors mothers choose for their babies’ nurseries- all soft and innocent and beautiful. 

“This one-” Klaus says, pressing the little bottle tight against Ben’s hands. He looks very sure of himself. “-is for you, mon frère” 

Ben raises an eyebrow. 

Allison knows Klaus isn’t a pushover- not when it comes to stuff like this, anyway. He takes gender and self expression very, very seriously. If Ben says the word, Klaus will put the bottle back in the box without a single word and he’ll never bring it up again. She knows, she knows- 

But she also knows just how much Ben likes pleasing people, pleasing Klaus- 

And after today- 

Ben sighs, stares at the pretty lilac, “Can’t you at least pick a darker color?” 

Klaus gasps, all mock offense. He shakes his head, laughs under his breath, goes back to rummaging and poking at the box’s contents- but he’s not looking for something for Ben anymore, Allison can tell. 

Lilac it is. 

Ben sighs, again. 

“Here,” Allison says, and she takes the bottle from Ben’s hands, uncaps it gently. 

It feels wild and freeing, somehow, to grab Ben’s fingers and put layer after layer after layer on his nails, to paint him pretty colors and see the way he keeps staring down at his own hands, amazed and awed, no matter how much he keeps sighing and huffing and pretending he’s above nail polish. It feels maybe a little bit like how it felt when she first started painting her own nails- a little bit like how it felt when Klaus first stood by her doorstep, all sheepish and afraid and embarrassed, and asked, quietly, if he could pretty please try some of that forest green because it’d go _ great _ with that one shirt he just bought, _ just this once, Allison, please, I’ll give it back, I swear. Just don’t tell Dad- _

It feels freeing, and wild. 

Ben’s never had his nails painted before. 

It looks good, if she does say so herself. It’s looks very, very good- clashes wildly against his dark hair, and dark eyes, and dark clothes. It’ll probably look even better in the light of day, when Ben’s wearing that dumb leather jacket of his that he never seems to take off. 

It’s a good color. 

It looks good. 

Klaus’ got a good eye, she thinks. 

“Oh, Ben-” Klaus starts, leaning over Ben’s shoulder to stare at his pretty nails. “Yeah, yeah- that right there?” he throws a kiss out at the air, out at Ben and Allison’s general direction, all hand gestures and exaggerated pouts, “Art,” he says, “Literal work of art” 

Ben rolls his eyes. 

But he’s still smiling, still staring down at his pretty nails, at the pretty lilac with that mix of emotions- all amazed and awed and happy. He likes them. He can’t not like them. 

He huffs, half-heartedly, “Now you’re gonna let me pick a color for you, or what?” 

Klaus shakes his head. “Uh-oh, Benny-boy,” he singsongs, raising a bottle up high to show them- _ plain black _. “I’ve already got my color” 

“What?” Ben squeaks, undignified. “How come you get black-? Klaus-” 

Klaus laughs, and Allison laughs, and Ben does not laugh. 

Ben pouts, very seriously, “God, you’re such an asshole” 

He goes to cross his arms over his chest, and he does it- smearing bright lilac all over his shirt. Allison watches as it if it were happening in slow motion, all of half a second when she tries to reach desperately and stop him but isn’t fast enough. Ben’s left staring down at the mess his shirt has become with a disbelieving look on his face, openly gaping, as if somehow, if he were to stare hard enough, the splotches of color would magically go away and disappear. 

Allison gasps, and Klaus gasps. They share a look. 

Something knowing, something that says _ look at this poor, poor boy- it's like the concept of paint being wet, and having to wait for it to dry is too much for him, too complicated. Poor, poor boy- _

They burst out laughing. 

Snorting, giggling, almost hiccuping with the effort. 

Ben glares at them, glares at his messed-up shirt, glares at the polish bottles, “It’s not funny, you guys” he hisses, high and angry. He keeps rubbing at the stains, trying to get the worst of it. “I like this shirt! It’s one of my favorites! God- will this even come out?” 

Klaus and Allison share another look- 

Nail polish stains? Coming out? 

They laugh harder, louder. 

“I hate you both” Ben announces, pouting all petulantly and grouchy, very pissed off. 

* 

They spend the night like that, together, the three of them. 

Klaus talks Ben into removing the messed-up polish and applying it all over again. Ben agrees, of course, fairly quickly, too, because apparently he didn’t learn a single thing from ruining his shirt. Allison lets Klaus do it, this time around, and stands aside as Ben’s nails turn that pretty lilac all over again. She doesn’t even warn him not to rub on his clothes. 

He’s probably learnt that, already. 

He admits he loves them, loves the pretty color. 

She paints Klaus’ nails plain black. Klaus paints hers a beautiful peachy pink, promises it’ll go great with that new dress Mom got her. 

It’s fun. 

It’s good. 

Allison stares at his brother, at both of his brothers, and watches them bicker and chat and argue about the most random and unimaginable things_ (“Klaus, that’s not- where did you even hear that? That’s not how STDs work, you idiot, you can’t get them from-” _

_ “Benjamin, I know my facts”). _

She watches them. 

It’s funny- 

She never actually allows herself time to slow down and watch her family, her siblings, her brothers. She loves them, she realizes. She loves them with a deep, burning passion, and she’s pretty sure she’d do just about anything to keep them warm and happy and giggly, to keep them alive. 

She loves them so, so much- 

* 

Ben dies, three months later. 

Allison sneaks her little bottle of lilac nail polish into his coffin, when nobody’s looking. It’s silly, but he said he enjoyed looking down and seeing the color. She wants him to be happy. 

She’d do anything. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this was literally meant to be like 3k long 
> 
> follow me on tumblr @myeyesarenotblue


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